


The Icing on the Cake

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cake, Cupcakes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For stripelock, enigmaticpenguinofdeath, and cmcross. This is based on a lovely, lovely <a href="http://optimisam.tumblr.com/post/27152999587/enigmaticpenguinofdeath-john-sat-off-to-one">gif set</a> by stripelock, enigmaticpenguinofdeath's response to the gif set, and my wish to turn the situation into Johncroft.</p><p>I quoted both the gif set and enigmaticpenguin's response, bolding them in the text. The bolded parts are not my words, they are theirs.</p><p>Basically, John eats a cupcake Mycroft left at 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Icing on the Cake

In his dash to attend to a crisis about a terrorist threat that was particularly hush hush, Mycroft had left at 221B the boxed cupcake he'd had with him from one of his favorite bakeries. It hadn't been a particularly relaxing morning with Sherlock, really, but when were moments with Sherlock ever anything but stressful? Mycroft had made a list of the stressors before in his life, multiple times. Sherlock always seemed to come out on top. Well, alright, sometimes national security won out, but that wasn't often.

He'd nearly left his umbrella as well, startled by the call to help coming so early in the morning on a morning he'd freed to be with Sherlock. John had been asleep when Mycroft had come in. _He'd_ likely had a relaxing morning. Sherlock was usually pleasant to him. Mycroft understood; he tried to be pleasant to John too.

Sherlock secretly wasn't happy that his moment of being Mycroft's most important stressor was taken from him by terrorists. So he very carefully forged Mycroft's handwriting and settled onto the couch, turning on the telly and snarling at early morning advertisements, full of empty promises which he could see right through. 

John's presence was a relief, battling and massacring any undead feelings of loneliness still roaming around in Sherlock. Sherlock waited for John to notice.

"For me?"

Sherlock glanced over. "You can read, John."

"Right. Well," John licked his lips. "Thank you."

Sherlock nodded. John had earned it, for being so loyal, so dependable.

John had most of the large, chocolate cupcake finished—using his knife and fork, but smears of moist crumbs and frosting still painted his knuckles, lips, and chin—by the time Mycroft let himself in again.

"I just thought I'd come and get my...." Mycroft paused, frowning at the empty spot where his bakery box had been. **"Sherlock, where did you put my cake?"**

**"I haven't touched your cake, Mycroft."**

**"Really?** Am I to believe it just vanished? I don't have time for any games. Or, am I to believe Doctor John Watson...." Mycroft trailed off as he turned to see a confused-looking  **John, sat off to one side with chocolate smeared guiltily on his face.**

"Wasn't that supposed to happen?" John said.

"It's alright if it was you, I suppose."

"My name was on it," John said, looking around. 

"What?!" Mycroft's eyes widened. "No, I wouldn't have...it was?" He swallowed. Perhaps he'd lost control of himself. Yes, it would have been nice to give John a large, chocolate cupcake, but people—men—didn't just give other men large cupcakes.

John stood and moved to the bin, pulling out the box, which was still laying on top. "See? 'For John'. Thought it was from Sherlock," John supplied awkwardly.

Mycroft stared. It was his handwriting, but not quite. Sherlock did it. He turned to glance at his brother, whose eyes were shining with amusement.

"Yes, well, I'm mistaken, then. Sorry, John. The terrorist situation must have shaken me up. I do hope you enjoyed it? I must have bought it for you." 

 **"Bloody hell Sherlock, you didn’t tell me that was Mycroft’s cupcake!"** John took a step away from Mycroft. "This is a mix-up, isn't it? He wanted to take your cupcake, but thought he'd make me do it cause you can't yell at someone who ate something with their name on it. I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be. Truth be told, I'd have liked to have bought you one, if I'd known you'd enjoy it. You did?"

"Yes, I did," John said, staring down at his messy hands. "That's plain," he said, clearing his throat.

Mycroft quirked his lip sweetly. "I seem to have no other business here, then, if Sherlock is willing to forge my handwriting and give away my cupcakes." He couldn't seem to help staring at the mess around John's lips.

"Oh, sorry," John said, covering his mouth and chin with his hand. He chuckled. "I must look a fright. It was a good cupcake; you'd know."

"You're free to eat any way you like," Mycroft said with a shrug, smiling. "I don't think you impolite." 

John put his hand down, heading to the sink. "There's a bit left on the plate," he informed quietly. "Might be able to get some satisfaction, at least."

"Honestly, John, it's highly satisfying to know you liked it."

"Thank you, then," John said, starting to wash his hands. He turned the water down, reaching for a paper towel, staring at it for a moment.

"What's wrong, John?" Mycroft asked, gently concerned.

"There's another way you could try some, you know."

"Is there?"

John turned toward him, the tap still on as he looked up, chocolate still around his mouth and, sweetly, a bit of frosting on the tip of his nose. He glanced over at Sherlock pointedly, grinning. "Bit of revenge," he whispered.

Mycroft's eyebrows rose. "Sounds delicious," he said a bit awkwardly, quirking his lip. 

John placed a clean hand on Mycroft's jaw, leaning up to kiss him as Mycroft leaned down. He felt the groan of satisfaction from Mycroft as his tongue searched a bit, just a bit, somehow reserved and proper even in kissing.

John pulled away, grinning at the sight of chocolate on Mycroft's face. He leaned in to lick at the corner of Mycroft's mouth, hearing a strangled noise from Sherlock.

Finally, he pat Mycroft on the cheek. "That was better than the cupcake," he said with a wink. 

"John!" said Sherlock, sounding scandalized. 

"That's what you get for giving away things that don't belong to you."

Mycroft was staring quietly at John, a soft smile in place on his slightly messy face. "Thank you, John. It was better indeed," he finally managed to say.

John wet his paper towel, cleaning off Mycroft's face, allowing Mycroft to do the same for him.

"Mycroft, giving away your cupcake clearly worked out for the best, so spare me any more of that," Sherlock said, making the "kissing makes me ill" face of a six-year-old boy.

"You never told John it was mine, Sherlock, so don't act like you'd planned it. Also, you forged my handwriting, so I think you deserve to sit through one more thing."

"Oh really?" Sherlock stood up. "Well, I think you can go to hell. It was just a cupcake, Mycroft." He threw his hands up in frustration, starting to head to his room, but pausing so he could see what Mycroft would do.

"John, may I take you out on a date?"

"I'd love to. Really. It's just I, ah, thought you wouldn't be interested." He glanced away for a moment, self-conscious.

"Oh, John," Mycroft said fondly.

The next day, he received from Mycroft an envelope that read "For John", containing a ticket to an opera. He was quite excited to go, actually. He couldn't say he'd really been before. He held the ticket in his hand and grinned as he opened the piece of paper inside the envelope, Mycroft watching for his reaction.

It was a guide to telling the minute differences between his handwriting and Sherlock's attempts at forgery. "I don't think I'll be able to use this guide," John admitted. "But thank you." He giggled. "This is clever. Thank you."

"You and I both know that the less of a leg-up Sherlock has on us, the better," Mycroft pointed out.

"I'm right here!" Sherlock complained.

"I texted you I was coming over, Sherlock. I can only assume you're here to watch me fumble about in front of your handsome flatmate."

John bit his lip. "You don't sound like you're fumbling to me, you devil."

"Oh God!" Sherlock said, throwing up his hands, then crossing his arms.

"I'm not stealing your friend, Sherlock," Mycroft said suddenly, voice very kind. "He'll be in at a decent enough time to listen to your theories and assist with experiments." 

"Yes," John agreed, turning to look at Sherlock. "I will be. Always."

Sherlock screwed up his face. "Stop being ridiculous," he said. "I'm just worrying Mycroft will corrupt you."

Mycroft bowed slightly. "Of course, Sherlock. Of course."

John lowered his voice. "You know, he'll likely interrupt a lot of our dates, if we're not careful."

Mycroft beamed at John. "We should expect nothing less. We'll just have to utilize our powers of stoicism and espionage."

Sherlock scoffed, but John noticed he looked slightly worried.


End file.
